Chapter 4
After the eyelash incident, I step up my attempts to get Scott to notice me. I apply my makeup in different ways, changing the colour of my lipstick. I experiment with hairstyles. When I wear blouses with buttons, I leave the top ones undone. I don't want to appear obvious, I just want him to find me attractive.
Saturday morning arrives. Scott is cleaning the pool, fishing leaves off the surface with a long-poled net. I sit on the edge of a nearby lounger, watching. I am wearing a snug little strappy top and a ra-ra skirt. On my feet are an adorable little pair of jewelled sandals. So much for not trying to appear obvious!
"It's your fault there are so many leaves in the pool, blasting off in Thunderbird 1 all the time," I flirt.
"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it." He taps wet leaves out of the net and onto the deck.
"So, have you decided what you're going to wear to the Fancy Dress Ball tonight?"
He pulls a face. "Dad's got an old trench coat and a hat. I'll say I'm Mickey Spillane or something."
"What about Lady Penelope? What's she going as?"
"No idea." He dips the net back in the pool. "Princess Leia, for all I know."
"Barbarella."
He looks up, grinning. "Don't you go putting those images into my head."
Oh, no. That's the last thing I'd want, Scott imagining Lady Penelope in skimpy leather! Quickly I change the topic. "So, what time are you leaving?"
"Five-ish, I guess. We're having dinner and drinks first."
I picture them laughing together over candlelight and wine. "Oh, that'll be nice," I say. "I haven't been out for dinner in ages!"
"Well, then. Maybe I'll take you one night." He winks at me.
"Really?" My heart does a somersault.
"Sure. We'll go somewhere nice. It'll be like Paris all over again. We had fun there, didn't we?"
"Yes, Scott, we certainly did."
"Remember that waiter who took a shine to you?"
"Oh, yes. Pierre," I giggle.
"Would you like ze house special, mademoiselle." He drawls seductively.
"You could go as Inspector Clouseau," I laugh.
Scott blasts off in Thunderbird 1 at 5pm sharp. Immediately the house feels different without him. I wander around looking for something to do, but I can't seem to settle at all.
Later that night, after I've gone to bed, my mind starts racing with all kinds of unwanted and unbidden thoughts. I imagine him and Lady Penelope drinking cocktails together in her sumptuous drawing room, Lady Penelope laughing daintily at all his awful jokes. But he probably doesn't tell awful jokes to Lady Penelope, he's probably suave and charming and attentive, and she probably flashes her big blue eyes at him a lot and lays her hand on his arm. Then I picture them eating dinner together, drinking fine wine out of crystal goblets, using all the right cutlery, with Lady Penelope's face glowing softly in warm candlelight and Scott transfixed by her beauty. After that, I torture myself with thoughts of them dancing together at the Ball, Scott looking at her with those knowing eyes and that dimpled smile, and she melting like butter into his arms. He will look like a rough diamond in his father's old trench coat and hat, and every woman in the room will be so desperate for his attention that Lady Penelope will have to fight them off with a sword.
That's what I picture, anyway, and I don't even want to start imagining what comes next. Scott told us he wouldn't be home until morning. What on earth will he and she be doing for the rest of the night?
Oh! There are times when I wish I hadn't let Alan break up with me. I never had to deal with these emotions, these feelings, these deep, dark thoughts in the wee small hours. I never had to lie in bed despairing over whether I was good enough for someone. I never felt the cold hands of rejection on my back, pushing me towards some dark and lonely doorway beyond which there lay nothing but endless days and nights of dismal solitude.
I punch the pillow, hard. Stop it, Tin-Tin. Stop it! Stop being so foolish and ridiculous. But still I lie there restlessly conjuring up thoughts that grow more morbid by the minute.
Scott gets home early on Sunday. I am standing bleary-eyed and exhausted at the kitchen window making mint tea when I hear the familiar approach of Thunderbird 1. The very air rumbles and vibrates as the big silver rocket descends majestically beneath the swimming pool to rest gently on her hydraulic trolley. After all this time, it is still a spectacular sight.
Scott's timing is perfect. He arrives just as breakfast is being dished up and plonks himself down at the table. His clothes are slightly rumpled and he appears not to have shaved, and I don't even want to think why. As for Virgil, he won't be home from Sydney for a few hours yet, so his table setting lies empty.
"So, son, how was your night?" Mr. Tracy asks, helping himself to a generous portion of scrambled eggs.
"Pretty good, dad, pretty good. Lady P was on fine form and all her socialite friends were as crazy as ever." Scott dishes up an even bigger helping of eggs than his father. At this rate there'll be nothing left for the rest of us!
"Tell us more, Scotty," prompts Gordon.
"yeah, you look like you're hiding something," grins Alan.
"I bet he got phone numbers."
"I bet he got lucky."
"Guys," Scott warns them, "it's too early. Quit it."
"Late night, huh."
"He probably didn't sleep at all."
"Boys," Mr. Tracy admonishes, "you heard what Scott said."
"I still think he looks like he's hiding something," says Alan.
I don't have to look at Alan to know he's wondering if Scott met any girls. If I'm totally honest, it's what I'm wondering too. I wait expectantly for Scott to speak- he's already beginning to smile. His brothers are irrepressible when they're together, sometimes if you can't beat 'em, you join 'em.
"What's there to hide?" he shrugs, innocently. "Dinner, drinks, party. That's all, folks."
"But you look like you crawled out of a barn."
"Hey, give me a break. I got two hours sleep."
"I knew it," says Gordon. "He scored."
"Yeah, that smile on his face just screams 'morning after'."
"You'll be screaming in a minute when I punch you on the nose, Alan."
"Man! Look at him. Something went on!"
"Nothing went on," Scott retorts. "So quit the interrogation already."
I pick at my food, pushing bacon that's beginning to go rubbery to the edges of my plate. I try hard to stifle a yawn. My eyes are stinging and heavy.
"Talking of late nights," Scott muses, "what's the matter with Tin-Tin?"
"Nothing, Scott," I say distractedly. "I went to bed early, I just couldn't sleep."
"That's too bad." He chews his food thoughtfully. "Stuff on your mind?"
I shake my head. There's no way I'm admitting to anything. "Not really," I say.
He puts down his fork, takes a big gulp of coffee. "Maybe you need a night out too. God knows there's not much to do around here. Go to a club, or whatever. Let your hair down. Make yourself tired for a reason."
I sense a shift in the mood. Alan fidgets, scraping the legs of his chair.
"Well, it's true I haven't been out for a while," I say.
Mr. Tracy nods in agreement. "You haven't even been to one of Virgil's nights recently, have you Tin-Tin?"
"No, Mr. Tracy." I'm starting to feel uncomfortable now, as though they are shining a spotlight on me.
"Well, Tin-Tin, if nobody minds, I'll take you out some time myself," says Scott.
Gordon looks up from his food, exchanging a glance with Alan. Alan is starting to pout.
"Oh, no, Scott! I don't want you to..." but I break off, because of course I want him to!
"Relax, Tin-Tin, keep your hair on. We'll just go see a movie or something. Have pizza. It'll be fun." He winks, and I get a sudden head rush.
Alan looks over at me. "Tin-Tin, why didn't you say you wanted a night out?"
"I didn't, I..."
"I could take you out somewhere. We could go bowling, or skating, or paintballing."
"Funny how you didn't offer before," says Scott.
"Now, boys," Mr. Tracy says gruffly. "I'm sure Tin-Tin can make up her own mind, can't you, Tin-Tin."
I can't eat my food anymore. I don't want to cause any trouble. I put down my fork with a clatter and get up from the table. "I'd like to be excused, please," I mutter, and stumble from the room.
Alan finds me later while I'm tending flower beds in the ornamental gardens of which my father and I are so proud. I prune and trim roses, relaxed and happy in my solitude. That is, until I hear footsteps and look up to see him coming towards me down the narrow flagged path.
"Tin-Tin," he says. He looks flushed. He stands a little too close, getting in my way so that I'm forced to stop what I'm doing.
"Yes, Alan," I sigh.
"I honestly didn't know that you were bored. You can come out with me if you want. You don't have to bother Scott."
"What do you mean, 'bother Scott'? He was the one that offered, you heard him."
"Yeah, but Tin-Tin, he was just being kind."
"And you are just being patronising. Why would I want to go out with you? We broke up with each other, remember? And besides, you've got Sindi now."
"Yeah, but I'm still you're friend, Tin-Tin. Aren't I?"
"And what, am I meant to be grateful? 'Oh, Alan, thank you so much for asking me out'. You only did it because you were worried about Scott."
"Why would I be worried about Scott?" He is blustering. I can see that he's worried about something.
"Because it sounds like he's asking me out on a date."
Alan snorts loudly. The sound shocks me, hurts me right in the heart. " A date?" he says, incredulously. "You think Scott's asking you on a date? He's just being nice to you, Tin-Tin. He felt sorry for you and thought you needed cheering up. Scott wouldn't ask you on a date."
"Why are you being like this?"
"I'm just being truthful, Tin-Tin. Scott's not asking you out, not in the way that you appear to be thinking."
"And how do you know what I'm thinking? Besides, why are you even that bothered, if he's not asking me out in that way?"
Alan's voice softens. He can see that I'm upset. "Because it's not Scott that I'm worried about, Tin-Tin. It's you. We are talking about a man who likes the ladies, you know? And even if he wouldn't harm a hair on your head, which I know he wouldn't, if you think he's asking you on a date, then you're going to get yourself into more trouble than you know."
"Oh, Alan, I've heard quite enough of this!" I retort. I fling down my secateurs and run away down the path so he doesn't see the tears that have sprung into my eyes.